


James

by LivetoDream333 (orphan_account)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Betting in Q-branch, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, I'm not an artist, James is a romantic, M/M, Painting, Poison, Prompt Fill, Sweet, Symbolism, so is Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LivetoDream333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Q's a painter and they already had it bad for one another when two paintings made everything click. (Also, Eve wins a bet.) </p><p>Prompt: Q writes/paints/is creative of some sort in his spare time (under an assumed name). James buys something Q's made and can't stop talking about it. James would really like to meet the person behind the work so he asks Q to help track him down, whether or not James already knows that Q is said creator is up to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	James

**Author's Note:**

> First true prompt I've ever tackled from Lygtemanden. :) Hope it turned out alright...  
> I should probably mention at some point that none of these characters are mine, right?

James

 

“The target will be in the National Gallery at the event tonight.” M stated as he handed over the file to James.

“What event?” James wondered.

“Amateur art display.” M answered. “People from all over sending in artwork, trying to be noticed. They’re selling the artwork for a charity as well, the National Deaf Children’s Society, though I’ve heard rumors that the best gets to hand there for a week, that’s one way to get recognition.” M shrugged simply. “Apparently the targets daughter will be there, because she both wanted to be a painter and she’s deaf.” James flipped through the file passively.

“Really not smart to have a soft spot.” James said, looking over the picture of the man, taking the face to memory.

“Most people do when it’s someone they love. You have soft spots too, you realize. You have a manic protective streak that is nearly as bad as you blow-up-everything-in-my-path streak.” James simply smiled.

“Why am I doing this instead of MI5?”

“Well, he’s usually out of the country with his drug smuggling. We had the file on him and we thought we’d save a flight while he was in town.”

“So MI5 doesn’t know we’re doing this?”

“Oh, they know. They aren’t pleased, but I got Q to lock up their systems for a bit, they don’t know where he’s going to be so you’re clear. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you, but Q’s promised to ruin anyone who interferes, I’m safe. Unless, of course, I make him angry somehow. Q will have your equipment for you.”

“Thank you, sir.” James nodded, handing the file back to him, having all of it memorized, before he left the room and headed directly to Q-branch. The lights were off and only a few techs lingered in front of screens, working diligently—except for the young woman who was playing chess on her screen. James chuckled and went to Q’s office, opening the door without knocking. Q looked, different, dressed in a tailored, grey suit and his hair almost controlled.

 _“—_ you damn well need to listen to me, 006 _.”_ Q snapped, holding up his finger to James, not even looking up from his computer. “No. Just stop and take a breath for God’s sake. Stop right where you are.” There was a moment of silence. “Alright, that’s better, now are you better?” Q’s voice was gentler, calm. “Okay, let’s do this my way, shall we?” Q asked before he started giving off instructions, typing away, opening doors, breaking down alarm systems, and trapping people behind in the building so Alec had a clear escape route. “Alright, you’re out. There’s a car waiting for you three blocks north on the southeast corner, take it, go to your hotel room, and do whatever it is you need to do to get your head back on straight. I’ll take all of your tracers off, call in when you are ready to come home. I’ll make sure you get a flight back… That’s right, no one will know where you are, I won’t even look until you call in, alright?” Q asked gently. “You’re welcome, have a restful holiday, 006.” Q nodded before he pulled his earpiece out and started typing. An alarm blinked on his computer in the upper right-hand corner. Instantly the door opened and R stepped in.

“006 has just gone off the map.”

“I’ve noticed.” Q sighed. “I’ll try to keep track of him as best as I can.” Q lied simply. “You should go home, R, you’ve put in too many hours.”

“So have you.” R snapped.

“I’ve got two agents in the field and a cuppa, I’ll be fine. Go home, R, that’s an order.” Q said, raising his eyebrows, as if waiting for her to challenge him.

“Yes, Q. Sorry you had to cancel your plans, goodnight, Q.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll lock up a bit?”

“Yes, thank you.” Q nodded before she left. “Sorry about that and please know that if you say a word about what I did I’ll kill you.”

“Of course.” James nodded. “You’re all dressed up. What were the plans tonight?”

“Oh, just a get together with some people, nothing big.”

“You’re wearing a suit, Q. It must have been important.”

“Well, I have work to do. Work is always more important.” Q said, standing up and heading for the shelf against the far wall. James couldn’t help but notice Q’s arse in the delightfully tailored trousers.

“You look good if that’s of any use to you.”

“Flattered, I’m sure.” Q said, staying turned away for a brief second longer to let his blush fade before he lifted a small box and turned towards James, walking back and setting the thin box on his lap. He opened it and James was, disappointed. “Please, Bond, I’m hardly going to send you to the National Gallery with a Walther, don’t you have any brain cells left?” Q demanded before he unscrewed one of the bottles in the box and tipped out a pill, handing it to James. “Take that, now, for me.”

James did so, without question.

“It amazes me that you simply listen to me now.” Q commented before standing up straight, lifting the other bottle. “I’m not going to send you to the National Gallery with a gun because I can see the mess you’d make, bullet holes in Turner’s and bloodstains on the Van Gogh’s I won’t stand for it and, honestly, we can’t afford to pay for it. This poison will dissolve instantly in liquid and will drop a man in an hour. It’s engineered to look like a heart attack. You won’t find the poison unless you know to look for it. I’ve just given you the antidote should you cock it up and manage to drink some for yourself. Do be subtle and slip it to your target rather than going in there guns blazing.”

“Antidote? Are you sure it works?”

“I tested it myself. It will work.” Q promised, gesturing to himself. “I’m still standing here. Now off with you, 008’s going to be going through hell in about five minutes and I can’t be bothered at the moment. I have a lot to get done.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your night off. I hope your date will forgive you.”

“It was hardly a date, I might be able to go again, someday. Well, if I’m invited again, one can never know.”

“May I ask what it was?”

“I’m allowed a personal life, Bond, and I like to keep it to myself. Off with you, or you will be late. There’s an Aston out front waiting for you. Keys in the ignition, door only opens with your thumbprint. I’ll be in your ear if everything goes smoothly, but you shouldn’t need me. If you do, you know how to let me know.”

“Thank you, Q.”

“And please don’t leave the bloody poison at the damn scene. I can only cover for you so much.”

800Q8

James slowly made his way through the exhibits with the group, casually following his target and his daughter. The amateur art was strewn throughout the many of the rooms. Most of the art was decent, but a few of the artists seemed to be amazing. “In the next room is the work of William Mallord, who couldn’t be here tonight to speak to you, but I rather think his work will speak for itself.” The man running the show said that about every artist who couldn’t make it, but this time he sounded sincere.

James looked at the five paintings on display with wide eyes. They were extremely detailed, as if done with the utmost precision, but they all appeared to be abstract. The predominately green one on the nearest side of the room had copper, red, and blue detailed over it in intricate, beautiful ways. James had no idea what it was meant to be, but he could appreciate the beauty of it. The second was a deep lilac color, the canvas was mostly white except for the long, flat, perfectly arched bit of lilac something grey clinging to the end of the lilac and faded bits of green in the background. It reminded James of a picture focused on a flower, everything else fuzzy in the back ground.

The picture on the right looked…warm. That was the only way to describe it. Warm and full of ripples, like a dark, chocolate ocean. The next painting was also green and painted as though it was slightly out of focus, short, arched, strands of varying shades of dark green, mingled with dark and honey browns covered the canvas. It was beautiful and detailed and planned but completely wild at the same time. One half of it was softer than the other, full of gentler tones and brighter greens and the other side seemed, controlling fierce, with more browns and darker greens, but still in a very deliberate manner. James felt like he knew what the painting was of…but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

The painting in the very center held the most attention.

It was much like the green and brown painting, only not out of focus at all and it was all in shades of blue and teal.

Every stroke of the painting seemed less planned than the first, as if this painting had been mere instinct in contrast to meticulous planning. Just over one half of the painting was full of bright, warm, beautiful ocean blues that intermingled together with gentle strokes, the smaller portion was full of darker blues, steel greys, and firmer brush strokes, almost impossibly firm strokes.

It puzzled James to look at. Every other painting was meticulous and planned, this one wasn’t and unlike the others there was no pattern to it. Unlike the green painting, it wasn’t even on both sides, one side had over taken the other ever so slightly. Why? Why was everything so perfect and then…not?

“The only painting Mallord will not be selling is the painting in blue. He is rather attached to that one, and justifiably so.”

“Do these have names, sir?” A young painter asked with wide eyes. She’d displayed bright paintings of flowers in her own exhibit. Her works had been quite good, but nothing was like the work of William Mallord.

“I have been informed that they do…but I’ve yet to find them. William told me that they are hidden in his works, but I’ve stared for hours and not found a single word except for his name in the corner.” James glanced at the green painting again. It was beautiful, breathtaking, random, but organized tediously amidst the chaos of it.

James found himself wanting it.

He shook his head and glanced at his target. His daughter was wide eyed and talking animatedly with her hands, smiling at her father widely. He seemed only amused by his daughter’s smile, not by the paintings.

When bids started. James bought it. It cost more than he’d ever spent on anything considered artwork, but it was beautiful and mysterious. He knew the painting somehow, but he didn’t know what it was. It bothered him immensely.

800Q8

“Your daughter is quite good.” James said as he lingered in her exhibit, speaking to his target and taking a small sip of champagne. _Q, you’d better not be trying to kill me…_ James thought to himself.

“I think so. She’s been painting since she was a kid. It’s her way of speaking. I don’t see much of her work though.”

“Work abroad?”

“Yes, I’m a business man.”

“Mm…” James hummed noncommittally. “What did you think of Mallord?”

“Brilliant, not the sort of thing I like, but brilliant. My daughter absolutely loved those paintings. I got the impression that she wants to marry him for painting them.”

“I rather liked them.” James said, chatting with him for a few more minutes before convincing him to partake in a toast. The countdown began and James paid for his painting and arranged for it to be delivered before he left.

800Q8

“Very nice job yesterday.” M commented. “How was it?”

“The show was pretty good actually, I bought a painting.”

“Did you? Please tell me it wasn’t on our budget.”

“It wasn’t.” James promised.

“Q handled everything, cleared evidence that you could have poisoned him and everything.”

“Did he ever make it out last night?”

“Not before one in the morning, 008’s assignment went to shit, but Q got it cleared up.” M sighed. “I’m glad M found that kid, he’s a star.”

“Yes, he is.” James agreed. The skinny boffin had gotten him out of trouble more times than he cared to mention. He was probably the only reason James was still alive. And…he was the best at finding people. James had questions to ask and Q could help him find the man to answer them. “I should go return my equipment.”

“What equipment?” M wondered.

“Earpiece, poison. I doubt he wants me carrying that around.”

“Hopefully you didn’t use it all.”

“He’ll be pleased, nothing blew up this time.” James grinned before he left, taking the familiar path back down to Q-branch. He found Q in his office, staring down at shards of broken glass on his wooden floor with a strange look on his face. “Hello?” Q snapped out of it instantly.

“Hello, 007, bring back my poison?”

“Yes… Everything’s intact.” James grinned at Q, putting everything down on the desk. “Can’t say the same about your mug. Are you alright?”

“Slipped out of my fingers. I’ll clean it up later. It was hardly my favorite mug.” No, the prized mug that no one dare touched was sitting on his desk, perfectly intact. Q lifted James’ earpiece and examined it with narrowed eyes. “It is in one piece, remarkable. I take it everything went smoothly. I apologize for neglecting you, I had…a lot on my plate. Talking to you and 008 would probably have sentenced 008 to death. I figured you were safe and I apologize for that, but you look…” Q looked him up and down quickly. “Well, you obviously didn’t need me, not even a scratch.”

“It’s fine Q, you can’t be everywhere at once.”

“Oh, but I was disarming bombs and hacking and keeping biological warfare from starting last night, I was practically on two different continents.”

“You look exhausted.” James almost felt terrible for wanting to ask Q for his help.

“I feel fine, I’ve had rougher nights. Today everything is surprisingly…simple. I’m just ensuring 008 gets home safely and waiting to see if 006 calls in, though he’s probably going to want another day off. I caught sight of him at a casino briefly.”

“You’re not busy then?”

“No…what do you need, Bond?” Q asked, looking up at James easily, relaxed, but he looked absolutely exhausted. It was extremely rare, to find someone who would be that willing to help. It always made James upset when he asked Q for something. The man almost never went home and whenever a double-o or a superior asked for anything he simply did it—sometimes after rolling his eyes, but he was a very giving person always available for help.

“I was wondering if you could find someone for me.”

“Find someone? Who?” Q asked, sitting down at his desk and letting his hands hover over his keyboard, waiting for a name.

“Are you sure you’re not busy?”

“Quite. I’m guessing this isn’t for work purposes then… The name, Bond?” James never knew how to take that, in formal situations he was always 007, but off of work related subjects he was always Bond. Everyone else was called by their first names outside of work, except for Tanner and Moneypenny. It was…strange.

“His name is William Mallord: M-A-L-L-O-R-D.” Q typed the name slowly before he looked up.

“Who is this? Why do you want to find them?” Q wondered as he began to work.

“I bought a painting last night. He painted it and…it’s gorgeous. But I swear I’ve seen it before. He wasn’t there last night and I wanted to ask him some questions about it.”

“What is it?”

“Abstract…but, calculated. It is green, strokes of green and brown intermingled and somehow, painted out of focus, two halves of it setting two different moods. It’s like two different beings are being portrayed, but they’re the same.”

“Didn’t know you liked art.”

“It caught my eye. I needed to know more. Q, you would love it. It’s beautiful. You’d appreciate the logic and thought behind it, I’m sure.” James commented.

“Well, you’re an idiot.” Q stated after a moment.

“Why?”

“Joseph Mallord William Turner.”

“He’s dead, been dead a long time, Q.”

“William Mallord. The name is a fake identity. William Mallord doesn’t exist, James.” Q commented.

“I’m hearing a ‘but’ in there.”

“But, even if he is fake he contacted the charity event under that name so there will be records, I just have to sort through them.” Q smiled up at James before he looked back down at his computer, typing quickly. His phone rang and he picked it up. “Q… Yes…I can do that for you. It will be sent up within the hour, sir. Yes, sir. Of course. I’ll do my best to stop calling you that.” Q chuckled before he hung up.

“It’s no rush…whenever you have time. I’m just, curious.”

“Alright, please don’t linger, I’m busy.”

“You said you weren’t five minutes ago.”

“I know I did, Bond.” James smiled before he left the office.

“You were chatty today. Finally asking the boffin for dinner?” Eve wondered idly as she walked by, putting papers on R’s desk before she turned to smile at James.

“Do you have a bet out on whether I ask him for dinner?”

“I’ve got you within the next two weeks, Tanner’s got you in the next three days, M’s already lost, and R is holding off for another month.”

“Betting on who I may or may not ask out for dinner?” James raised an eyebrow.

“You will, James, I’ve seen the way you look at him, not to mention the way you check out his arse when he walks away.”

“I do not—”

“Yes you do.”

“Okay, yes I do.” James sighed.

“Who doesn’t? It’s a good one.” Eve chuckled. “We’re just waiting for it now.”

“Mm, now the bet is rigged because the subject knows about it.”

“Not really. So what were you talking to him about?” Eve wondered.

“He’s finding someone for me. I’ve fallen in love with a painting, I think…”

“Really? Do tell. Is it pornographic?”

“No, it’s actually abstract. I just…feel like I’ve seen it before and I’m curious about it.”

“So you’re going to interrogate a painter?”

“No, just going to ask, unless he refuses, then I’ll interrogate him.”

“That’s the James I know.” Eve grinned. “Could I see it? Have you got a picture or something?” James did have a picture. He slipped his phone out, opening the picture and showing it to Eve. “Oh, that is beautiful, not abstract though… It’s too meticulous for abstract, too thoroughly planned.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“I’ve seen this before too… It’s familiar… Both sides I’ve seen. I don’t know where.” Eve said, handing it back to James. “It is beautiful though.”

“I thought so too.”

“So you bought it?”

“I don’t hardly do anything at home but drink and shoot at the range, there really isn’t much I spend money on anyway. Couldn’t let someone else have it.”

“Of course not, the Old Dog always wins.” Eve winked. “Tell me what you find out, won’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, some of us actually have jobs. Don’t blow anything up today, Q needs a bit of a break.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“James Bond must be in love to go a day without blowing something up just to make the Quartermaster’s life easier.” Eve grinned.

“Cheeky.”

“True.” Eve called back as she walked away.

800Q8

Q didn’t contact James for a week. James didn’t care, it wasn’t urgent, but he did want to know. He found himself staring at the painting in his front room often, trying to figure out what it was and where he’d seen it. The text he got was simple.

_Found him if you’re still interested._

James waited a moment and an address chimed through a moment later. James looked at the clock. Sunday night at six. He would most likely be home. James got up and pulled on his coat before he walked down to his car. The drive was simple and the building he arrived at was ten stories tall and modern. The second he entered the building another text chimed at him.

_Flat 1003._

James looked up into the corner and waved slightly, knowing Q was most likely watching him.

_Quit stalking me. –Bond_

_You’re doing the stalking. I’m just supplying information._

James shook his head and rolled his eyes before the he got onto the elevator. He hit the highest number before glancing at the small camera in the elevator. He considered briefly asking if Q was still watching, but he already knew the answer. Q was constantly watching everyone, even on his days off. He was a protective person, very protective of all of his agents especially. James got off on the tenth floor and walked down the hall, looking at the door to 1003. A small keypad was next to it. He heard music drifting out from the flat and saw light from under the door.

James felt silly for a moment, but he was a double-o, he didn’t have time to feel silly. He knocked on the door and heard someone move inside before the door opened and Q smiled at him.

“Took you ten seconds longer than necessary to knock.” Q commented. James looked at him strangely. Q was in dark jeans and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up, the top two buttons left undone. His hair was a mess and his glasses had slid slightly down his nose and something colorful was stained on his right hand.

“Q...?”

“Come in before the silent alarm goes off, wouldn’t want MI6 to come barging in.” Q smiled shyly, opening the door wider and admitting the agent. Q closed the door and pressed his right pinky on a panel next to the door. “That would just be a waste of resources.”

“Q, why—?” James saw it then, hanging on the wall in the mostly empty front room, the blue painting.

“Turner is one of my favorites and I can’t give out my real name, that would be stupid.” Q commented.

“You painted…all of them?” James wondered.

“Yes…it’s…a hobby. I haven’t ever told anyone.” Q commented. James looked around at the walls, but only the blue painting was on display. “The others are in the studio if you want to see them.”

“Yes, please.” James commented. “Why is that one hanging?” James wondered as Q led him down a hallway.

“It’s my favorite, I spent weeks on it…well, months if you count planning and research but…you know.” Q sighed opening the door. The room was open and flooded with natural light, at least fifty different paintings lay around, one sat, propped up, incomplete, but James knew what it was.

“The broken mug.” James realized.

“From my desk light reflected off of the shards…it was beautiful.” Q shrugged. “I tried to bring it to life…it’s not finished.”

“These are beautiful, Q.” James said with wide eyes, looking at all of them.

“Don’t be overly kind, I know some of them aren’t anything to be proud of.” Q said, feeling a bit insecure about them. He’d never shown anyone his work before, not anyone that he actually had to talk to, not anyone he knew, not anyone he _cared_ for.

“Q, really, they’re beautiful. They’re moments aren’t they?”

“Little snapshots in time, little things that most people don’t see beauty in because they don’t look. One of the paintings you saw on display was a piece of a motherboard.”

“The one with copper in it.”

“Yes, that one.” Q nodded before he sat down in his chair, looking at all of them. “Some people gamble, some fuck, some drink, some smoke to wind down after a rough week… I try to paint something I find beautiful, or at least worth portraying.”

“May I?” James asked, looking around.

“Be my guest, just don’t drop anything if you pick them up.” Q said simply before lifting a brush and dipping it into brown. James walked around the room before the light glinted off of one painting just right.

“Oh…”

“What?” Q wondered.

“You put the names in the paintings. In the brush strokes. Is it in binary code?”

“It’s strange I know, but we are talking about me.”

“Care to translate the ones I saw at the museum?”

“Broken Motherboard, Drowning Lilac, and Black, No Sugar.” Q grinned.

“Ah, the warm ocean was tea.”

“It’s always tea with me.” Q commented.

“What about the other two?”

“That would be giving everything away.” Q sighed, finishing a stroke before standing up.

“Why don’t you tell people about this?”

“I guess I always feel like I’m not very good. Although I seemed to have fetched the most amount of money for charity…at least I make a good amateur. Of course, I did give them my best paintings though…”

“They’re all brilliant.” James promised.

“You know… This is going to be really hard to explain, but, um, try not to freak out, alright?” Q asked.

“I won’t.”

“Alright…” Q sighed before leading James out to the front room. “Make yourself at home. Tea or something stronger?”

“Tea’s perfect.” James smiled. Q moved through the kitchen and James looked up at the blue painting on Q’s wall. “Couldn’t part with it?”

“Not at all.” Q replied. “Reflection…that’s the name of the painting you bought.”

“Reflection? Of what?”

“Well, I was practicing for the one on the wall, but I needed something more readily available to paint before I tackled the one on my wall, so I used my own reflection first.”

“Reflection of what?”

“My eyes.” Q said as he brought a mug out and sat it down in front of James. “Both relaxed and at work.”

“That’s why it was so familiar.” James smiled.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“And why it’s out of focus, both because it’s shaded with your preconceived notions and because you were looking through your glasses, which distorts them slightly.”

“Did you study art before joining the Navy, Bond?” Q chuckled.

“No, I study people. What’s the blue one then?” James wondered.

“James.”

“What?”

“No, it’s called James.” James stared at Q for a moment, who looked down at his feet, flustered. James looked up at the painting again with wide eyes. Q had chosen to depict his eyes, had studied them for a long time just to see how to depict them, had put thought into recreating them perfectly, had looked at them in his many different moods.

Q had kept it.

Q couldn’t part with it.

It seemed to be the only painting Q really seemed proud of.

It had taken Q a week to admit that he painted it.

Q had feelings…and not little ones.

Q was actually _admitting_ to having feelings.

“Oh…” James sighed after a moment.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s… I’m sorry.”

“No, Q…that’s…remarkable, Q. I like Reflection better, of course, but…that’s beautiful, Q.”

“You realize I just—?”

“Yes.” James nodded.

“Why aren’t you leaving and slamming the door?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“But you don’t do… You don’t—”

“Who says I don’t? Just because I haven’t told you yet doesn’t mean I didn’t fully intend to.” Q stared at him opened mouthed for a moment before James reached out and lifted Q’s jaw back into place, causing the younger man to blush and fidget. Absolutely adorable. “You’re smart, sarcastic, handsome, clever, trustworthy, kind, strong, and damn talented. What more could I possibly ask for?”

“Someone with social skills. Someone who can’t make your gadgets backfire after a row. Someone who is more experienced. Someone female, perhaps.”

“Boring. Planning rows already are we? If you blow me up can you imagine the paperwork?” Q chuckled and blushed, shaking his head.

“The good news is that M could never fire me, even if I did blow you up. He needs me.”

“We should probably just avoid fights in the future then…”

“Yeah… Wait, that statement implies that—” James shut him up with a gentle peck to his lips. Q didn’t complain at all.

“You think too much, Q. Dinner?”

“Yes…”

“Take away?”

“Mm-hm.” Q smiled.

“Chinese or—”

“Italian.” They both said together. James smiled and reached for his phone before pausing.

“Out of curiosity…why William Mallord?”

“We met in front of a Turner piece.” Q said, blushing.

“There’s a romantic hidden behind those God awful cardigans, isn’t there?”

“I suppose so.” Q sighed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” James smiled. If James knew anything he knew there was a bit of…romance in himself as well. James was loyal to a fault and protective and he fell in love quickly and deeply and fully. He hadn’t loved since Vesper, but he hadn’t trusted anyone after her, until Q. He could practically feel himself falling, but he wouldn’t tell Q. “Next time you decide to paint something of yourself, Q, let me show you what the world sees before you paint it…it might turn out a bit clearer.” James smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss against Q’s lips once more.

James smiled to himself when he realized that the pair of them had paintings of each other in their flats…and that Eve had won the bet.

**Author's Note:**

> Anything you want to see, let me know.  
> Much Love.


End file.
